The Texts

I stared at my phone for twenty minutes before Aiden noticed.

"You okay?" He glanced over from the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for mine.

I locked my screen and forced a smile. "Just tired."

"Dad can be a lot." Aiden squeezed my fingers. "But he liked you. I could tell."

My stomach twisted. "How could you tell?"

"He stayed for dessert. He never stays for dessert." Aiden grinned, proud of himself, proud of me. "And he actually smiled. Did you see that? When you made that joke about the waiter's bow tie?"

I hadn't been paying attention to the waiter's bow tie. I'd been trying not to notice the way Jamie's fingers wrapped around his glass, the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way his eyes found mine across the table again and again.

"Yeah," I said. "I saw."

Aiden pulled up to my apartment building, a modest three-story walk-up in a neighborhood that real estate agents called "emerging" and everyone else called "cheap." He killed the engine and turned to me, his face soft in the glow of the streetlight.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For being you. For making this easy." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle and familiar. "I know my family's intimidating. The money, the expectations, all of it. But you didn't try to be someone else tonight. That's why I love you."

The words should have made me warm. Should have made me melt into his arms and kiss him and forget everything else.

Instead, all I could think about was the text on my phone.

"I love you too," I said, and I meant it. I did.

Just maybe not enough.

Aiden walked me to my door, kissed me goodnight—sweet and slow—and waited until I was inside before heading back to his car. I watched from the window as his taillights disappeared down the street.

Then I pulled out my phone.

The message was still there. Still real.

**Unknown:** *It was a pleasure meeting you too, Lilith.*

My thumb hovered over the delete button. One tap and it would be gone. Erased. Like it never happened.

I set the phone face-down on the counter and walked away.

---

Sleep didn't come easy.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment from dinner. The way Jamie looked at me when Aiden wasn't watching. The brush of his thumb against my skin. The text.

It had to be him. No one else had my number except Aiden and a handful of friends. And the timing was too perfect—too deliberate.

But why?

What did he want?

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and my heart kicked into my throat. I grabbed it, hands shaking.

**Aiden:** *Home safe. Dream of me.*

I exhaled and typed back a quick reply, then put the phone on silent and shoved it under my pillow.

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of gray eyes and rough hands and a voice that said my name like a secret.

---

Morning came too bright and too loud.

I dragged myself out of bed, showered, dressed, and tried to pretend last night hadn't happened. My shift at the youth center started at nine, and I needed the distraction.

The center was a squat brick building wedged between a laundromat and a corner store, funded by donations and running on hope. I'd been volunteering there since freshman year, and now they paid me just enough to cover groceries and gas.

"Lilith!" Marcy, the director, waved from her office as I walked in. "Can you cover the art room today? Jen called in sick."

"Sure."

I spent the next four hours with a dozen kids between the ages of eight and twelve, helping them paint, glue, and occasionally stop each other from eating the supplies. It was chaotic and messy and exactly what I needed.

By the time my shift ended, I'd almost convinced myself that last night was nothing. A misread signal. An overreaction.

Then I checked my phone.

**Unknown:** *How was your morning?*

My blood went cold.

I looked around the empty art room, suddenly aware of how alone I was. The kids had gone home. Marcy was in a meeting. The hallway outside was silent.

I typed fast, my fingers clumsy.

**Me:** *Who is this?*

The reply came instantly.

**Unknown:** *You know who.*

I did. Of course I did.

**Me:** *How did you get my number?*

**Unknown:** *Aiden's phone. Last night while he was on his call.*

My hands shook. He'd gone through Aiden's phone. Stolen my number. And now he was texting me like this was normal, like this was okay.

**Me:** *This isn't appropriate.*

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

**Unknown:** *I know.*

That was it. No apology. No explanation. Just two words that somehow made everything worse.

I shoved my phone into my bag and left the center, walking fast, my mind racing. This had to stop. I needed to tell Aiden, needed to block the number, needed to do something.

But when I pulled out my phone to call him, I hesitated.

What would I even say?

*Your dad texted me and it felt like cheating even though nothing happened?*

*I can't stop thinking about the way he looked at me?*

*I think I felt something I shouldn't have?*

I put the phone away.

---

Two days passed.

Jamie didn't text again, and I started to think maybe he'd come to his senses. Maybe he realized how wrong this was and decided to stop before it went any further.

Aiden and I fell back into our routine. Coffee dates, late-night phone calls, stolen afternoons in his apartment. Everything felt normal.

Except it wasn't.

Because every time Aiden touched me, I thought about his father. Every time he kissed me, I wondered what Jamie's mouth would feel like. Every time he said my name, I heard it in a different voice—lower, rougher, darker.

I hated myself for it.

On Thursday, Aiden called with bad news.

"There's a conference in Chicago," he said, his voice apologetic. "My dad wants me to go with him. Networking, meetings, all that corporate stuff."

"How long?"

"Three days. We leave tomorrow morning." He paused. "I'm sorry, babe. I know we had plans this weekend."

"It's fine," I lied. "Work comes first."

"I'll make it up to you. I promise."

We said goodbye, and I tried to feel disappointed. Tried to feel like a good girlfriend whose boyfriend was leaving town.

Instead, I felt relieved.

Three days without Aiden meant three days without pretending. Three days without guilt.

Three days without having to see Jamie.

Except Friday night, my phone rang.

Unknown number. But not the same one as before.

I almost didn't answer.

"Hello?"

"Lilith." Jamie's voice poured through the speaker, and my entire body tensed. "It's Jamie Whitmore."

"I know."

Silence hung between us, heavy and thick.

"I need a favor," he said finally.

"What kind of favor?"

"There was a mix-up with my hotel reservation. They overbooked, and everything else in the city is full because of some medical convention." He sounded frustrated, almost embarrassed. "Aiden mentioned you have a spare room."

My heart stopped. "You want to stay at my place?"

"Just for tonight. Tomorrow I'll find something else."

"I—" My mouth was dry. "Where's Aiden?"

"Already in Chicago. I'm flying out tomorrow morning. Early meeting got moved."

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea.

"Please, Lilith. I wouldn't ask if I had another option."

The smart thing would be to say no. To tell him to sleep in his car or try a hotel an hour away or literally anything else.

But my mouth betrayed me.

"Okay," I whispered. "You can stay."

---

He arrived at eight.

I'd spent the last two hours cleaning my apartment, changing sheets, hiding anything embarrassing, and talking myself in and out of texting him to cancel.

When the knock came, I almost didn't open the door.

But I did.

Jamie stood in my hallway, overnight bag in hand, still wearing his suit from earlier but with his tie loosened and his top button undone. He looked tired. Human.

Dangerous.

"Thank you," he said, stepping inside. "I owe you."

"It's fine." I closed the door behind him, suddenly aware of how small my apartment was. How close we were standing. "The spare room is down the hall. Second door on the left."

He nodded but didn't move. Just stood there, looking at me.

"What?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

"Nothing." He set his bag down. "You look different here. More... yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"At the restaurant, you were performing. Playing the role of Aiden's girlfriend." His eyes traced my face. "Here, you're just Lilith."

I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to respond to the way he was looking at me—like he could see straight through every wall I'd built.

"I should let you get settled," I said, stepping back. "There are towels in the bathroom. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen."

"Lilith."

I stopped, my hand on the doorframe.

"Why did you agree to this?" he asked.

"Because you needed help."

"That's not why."

My pulse hammered in my throat. "Then why do you think I said yes?"

He moved closer, and I could smell that cologne again—smoke and wood and something else I couldn't name.

"Because you feel it too," he said quietly. "And you're just as scared as I am."

I should have denied it. Should have told him he was wrong, that I loved his son, that this was all in his head.

But I couldn't.

Because he was right.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and Aiden's name lit up the screen.

**Aiden:** *Miss you already. Love you.*

Jamie saw the message. Saw the name.

His jaw tightened, and he stepped back, the moment shattering like glass.

"Goodnight, Lilith," he said, his voice cold again. Controlled.

He picked up his bag and disappeared into the spare room, closing the door behind him.

I stood alone in the hallway, staring at Aiden's text, my hands shaking.

This was going to end badly.

I knew it.

And I still didn't walk away.